However, he renounced the project upon learning what a Dutchman was.  Since my hours were no longer dedicated to establishing the presence of royal blood in my veins I had spent them upon various local investigations of a character far more entertaining and akin to my taste.  It was in truth quite likely that Beverly could in a very few moments, with his smile and his manner, find his way to any Dutchman’s heart; he had that divine gift of winning over to him quickly all sorts and conditions of men; and my account of the ingenious and law-baffling contrivances, which you found at these little grocery shops, at once roused his curiosity to make a trial; but he decided that the club was better, if less picturesque.  And he told me that all the men of the automobile party had received from John Mayrant cards of invitation to the club.

“Your fire-eater is a civil chap,” said Beverly.  “And by the way, do you happen to know,” here he pulled from his pocket a letter and consulted its address, “Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael?”

I was delighted that he brought an introduction to this lady; Hortense Rieppe could not open for him any of those haughty doors; and I wished not only that Beverly (since he was just the man to appreciate it and understand it) should see the fine flower of Kings Port, but also that the fine flower of Kings Port should see him; the best blood of the South could not possibly turn out anything better than Beverly Rodgers, and it was horrible and humiliating to think of the other Northern specimens of men whom Hortense had imported with her.  I was here suddenly reminded that the young woman was a guest of the Cornerlys, the people who swept their garden, the people whom Eliza La Heu at the Exchange did not “know”; and at this the remark of Mrs. Gregory St. Michael, when I had walked with her and Mrs. Weguelin, took on an added lustre of significance:—­

“We shall have to call.”

Call on the Cornerlys!  Would they do that?  Were they ready to stand by their John to that tune?  A hotel would be nothing; you could call on anybody at a hotel, if you had to; but here would be a demarche indeed!  Yet, nevertheless, I felt quite certain that, if Hortense, though the Cornerlys’ guest, was also the guaranteed fiancee of John Mayrant, the old ladies would come up to the scratch, hate and loathe it as they might, and undoubtedly would:  they could be trusted to do the right thing.

I told Beverly how glad I was that he would meet Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael.  “The rest of your party, my friend,” I said, “are not very likely to.”  And I generalized to him briefly upon the town of Kings Port.  “Supposing I take you to call upon Mrs. St. Michael when I come back this afternoon?” I suggested.

Beverly thought it over, and then shook his head.  “Wouldn’t do, old man.  If these people are particular and know, as you say they do, hadn’t I better leave the letter with my card, and then wait till she sends some word?”